Laura, me, and Jenny. They let me be in the middle, because that's how NICE they are in real life!

When I met Jenny The Bloggess at BlogHer in San Diego a few weeks ago, I was a little giddy. I usually don’t go GaGa over celebrities and famous people, just so you know, but I admire Jenny’s writing and creativity, along with her bravery, and uncanny ability to effectively use dead animals and monkey hands in interior design displays. Also, I think she might be self-actualized. And I can’t read auras yet, but I’m betting hers is probably golden.

I’ve met a few famous people over the years, and it’s always the same: once you start talking to them, they’re just like everyone else, except they have to deal with giddy strangers coming up to them in public places and starting awkward conversations, and saying things like “I love you!” and then maybe trying to hug them.

Most famous people handle this kind of thing with grace, but some of them will punch you if you try to hug their kids, and then they might throw your camera on the ground and stomp on it. This can cause a ruckus and sometimes police get involved. But that’s never happened to me. I always ask before I try to hug a kid.

I have had small brushes with fame myself, so I like to think I know how it feels. Once, the day after the local news did a 2 minute spot on one of my Chubby Mommy Running Club meetups, the wine guy at the grocery store stopped me and said, hey, didn’t I see you on TV last night? Some running thing? Why yes, I said, feeling flattered and embarrassed at the same time.

And then he started asking me a bunch of questions about running, as if I’m an expert, and he wanted to know all about the club, even though he’s clearly not a mommy, and he just went on and on and on, almost like he knew me, and we were gabbing away like friends do when they meet at the grocery store. But what I really wanted to do was buy some wine and go home and drink it. Without him.

So I didn’t want to be that awkward, overly huggy, blabber-mouth girl when I met Jenny, even though I feel like I know her and that surely she knows me just as well as I know her. Yes, a million people read her blog and 150,000 people follow her every word on Twitter, but I send her cards in the mail sometimes. And I bought an ad on The Bloggess so I can promote my upcoming Chubby Mommy Running Club Dance team. So she should know me, right? And it’s not just because I gave her money. It’s not like that with us. The connection is real. Right?

I found Jenny at The People’s Party at BlogHer that she hosted for all her friends and fans, along with a few other famous bloggers. I got there early, since I heard she can get mobbed and usually retreats to the bathroom to get away from the crowds. But this year, BlogHer made her a “bathroom” inside the party room, which was really just a curtained off area with fake sinks and easy access to the bar, to keep her from escaping.

Jenny was sitting in there behind the curtains with her best friend Laura, who is her actual, documented best friend, not just a pretend one. Laura probably doesn’t have to send her money. I bravely walked up and introduced myself and then they both stood up and hugged me, and Jenny said she thinks the Chubby Mommy Running Club Dance Team sounds hilarious and she loves my cards.

Omg, I know! She really does know me!

And then Jenny and Laura let me take a picture with them, kind of like I was their actual friend, because that’s how nice they are. And I’m sure if their children had been there and I asked nicely, they may have let me hug them too, but I don’t want to push it here.

So, yeah, Jenny’s just a normal person in real life, but she does have extraordinary powers. Okay, she’s not normal. At all. We wouldn’t love her so much if she was.

Check out her aura!

It takes a whole lot of aura to light up fake bathroom tiles.

About the author

juliejulie

I'm quite sophisticated, really. For more information: julieanderson at hotmail.com
It all seems rather amusing, if you ask me.

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I'm a 43 year old mommy who works in the tech industry, and runs. Sometimes. My mantra? "Try, not cry!"
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